Sweet Nothings
by Nayuki-Bunny
Summary: the things that sewed them together, heartstring by heartstring/ 33 drabbles
1. but it was enough

**I'm not really sure what to make of this, nor what direction it will take, but I decided that the mini drabbles of IchiHime on my computer should be shared. and so here they are! the title pretty much says it all XD most of the ones I've written are set in the future, as in beyond the canon, as to make dating and all that more realistic. **

**I'll be uploading these little by little, and I hope you all enjoy :)**

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><p>"I would die for you," she'd told him once, in a fit of love that begged to be known, to shock. Her fingers had twisted into the fabric of his shirt, an attempt to anchor his simple beauty to herself. He'd stared, face blank, and the words had tumbled easily from her lips.<p>

"I would, I would-"

He'd interrupted her swiftly, slanting his mouth over hers almost harshly, stealing her breath and the syllables away. She drowned and resurfaced in the span of his heated kiss, his arms crushing her closer so that her heartbeat flattened against his; it was as though eons passed and he had written volumes upon volumes of hesitant poetry on her skin.

"Don't," he'd exhaled roughly as he pulled away from her moist lips, drawing a weak gasp from her shuddering frame. "Look at me," he growled, and her eyes had fluttered open at his tone. Wordlessly, he'd threaded a hand through her hair, tipping her head back, and stared at her. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes lidded as his darkened. He cursed as she pressed herself to him again. "Don't," he'd snarled, breaking the kiss, even as she surged toward him again. "Don't. Don't."

It was all he said, but it was enough.

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><p><strong>drop me a review, I'd love to know your thoughts!<strong>


	2. steady as he goes

"…Are you going to kiss me good night?" she'd asked him, early on when her love was still young and just as bright. The words had come out quiet and stuttered, and her face was hot as she asked, but she'd kept her gaze firm and her heartbeat steady.

He'd stiffened at the question, color flooding his face, and she'd felt horribly awkward. She shouldn't have asked him at the door, not when she was fumbling for her keys, not when they were still new at this, not when he didn't really understand that she _loved _him. "Sorry-" she said, just as he'd begun to say something.

He paused, running a hand through his short hair so that it fell over his eyes. "I-Inoue, I…"

Her gaze dropped and her toes curled and her stomach sank. Oh, she'd gone and ruined the evening-

But then he leaned forward suddenly, his hand sliding underneath her heavy curtain of hair and brushing at her throat. She would realize later that her eyes slipped shut even without knowing what he was going to do (she had never lost that blind trust) and when his lips brushed at the corner of her mouth, everything melted away.

"…Good night," he mumbled, even as his warmth vanished and he faded into the darkness all too quickly.

She'd barely made it into the house before her legs gave way.

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><p><strong>writing stuff like this makes me so giddy xwx<strong>

**let me know what you think!**


	3. needs

He holds their infant son the same way he holds her— tightly (for fear of letting go) yet tenderly (so they don't shatter from the crushing weight of his love).

She finds excuses for him to watch the baby just so she can catch glimpses of his relaxed face and peaceful eyes. Her favorite parts of the day are when she catches him napping, sprawled on the sofa with his work scattered haphazardly on the coffee table, and the child nestled against his chest.

He only ever sings when the baby cries for a lullaby and he rushes even faster than she does when he cries at all. She knows he doesn't think twice before tossing aside a portfolio to scoop up the fussing boy, nor does he hesitate to favor him with a smile.

Once at night, as he returns to bed from his turn to tend to their son, she murmurs teasingly to him.

"Maybe you don't need me anymore."

He turns over and pins her arms above her head before she can gasp in surprise, her back arching and hips tilting out of habit. His customary scowl is etched even deeper into his face and his gaze smolders her insides to embers and ash.

"Never say that again," he tells her. "I need you." His eyes _burn _and her lips part. "I need you more than you will ever know-"

She kisses him, slowly and deeply, and his grip on her wrists loosen so that she can wind her hands into his hair. He groans into her mouth when she rolls her hips against his, and he spends the rest of the night reminding her just how much he needs her.

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><p><strong>I have a supreme weakness for family and Daddy Ichigo fics. afdlfkjldflds.<strong>

**are there scenarios anyone would like to see, by the way? I'm very open to suggestions, so let me know!**


	4. trust and touch

**thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in my fic so far, your support means the world to me!**

**this is not my favorite drabble, but I felt like this was a topic that ought to be explored, so here it is! enjoy!**

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><p>"All guys ever want is sex," Chizuru had once said, loudly before homeroom. "They're hormonal beasts!"<p>

She'd flushed at her friend's volume, quietly trying to assure her that she was sure that wasn't the case, when he'd stalked over suddenly and glared down at them. Chizuru had held his gaze, but she had reddened and started babbling nervously before he smoothly cut in.

"All women deserve respect. Don't be so quick to pass judgement."

He'd left just as quickly, hands jammed defiantly in his pockets, and she'd felt like a balloon: filled with helium and giddily floating.

And she wouldn't have expected anything less from him— despite what he said about his father, he'd been raised as chivalrous and slightly old-fashioned. It was something she found incredibly endearing. It was also something she remembered throughout their shy courting, when his chaste kisses quickly morphed into barely restrained passion, when a repressed heat flitted across his face when she pressed against him. There were times when his arms had snaked around her unwittingly and he'd pulled back, stuttering and embarrassed.

And then, one day in his bedroom with their books forgotten, she catches his hands and guides them back to her waist. "I trust you," she says simply and his eyes widen.

Her skirt has ridden up and his shirt is tangled around his arms when his father bangs at the door to ask if they need condoms.

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><p><strong>wahahaha, I adore Isshin, he is so funny XD<strong>


	5. if I were to never love again

As usual, she is waiting in a white castle's tall, white tower. There is a single window with three black bars from which she can watch the moon never set and the sun never rise. She is halfway certain that this is not how it always was.

Time passes slowly here, with increasing viscosity, and eventually her limbs turn to marble and her lips crack with want of conversation. Sometimes she feels cold fingers trace the contours of her spine, but she never turns and she never speaks. She is waiting.

"Why don't you smile?" a voice asks her from time to time, blowing breath over the nape of her neck. She never turns and she never speaks. She is waiting.

The moon never sets and the sun never rises.

"You know," the voice murmurs one day, lips near her ear, "maybe the thing you're waiting for is already here."

She doesn't turn and she doesn't speak, but her eyes waver downward and she sees him.

He's running, a flickering flame pushing closer and closer to the castle door. Countless faceless foes strike at him with their swords, and his mouth moves.

"Why don't you smile?" the voice asks. She doesn't turn and she doesn't speak. Instead, she watches from her vantage point as he falls, far down below.

His blood is a lovely crimson on the white sand.

"Smile, my dear," the voice says gently, running smooth hands from her jaw, lower, lower, _lower_, and nobody can hear her silent screams-

"Orihime!"

She wakes with a start, gasping for air as though rescued from drowning. "I'm here!" someone is saying, voice roughened and hair tousled with sleep. His face sharpens above her. Distantly, she realizes that there are incoherent sobbing noises dribbling from her lips.

"I'm here, I'm here!" he repeats, and she pulls him close.

Here, the sun rises and her knight lives.

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><p><strong>one problem that I had with the Xcution arc was that we didn't get any insight into how the entire Hueco Mundo arc essentially <em>traumatized Orihime<em>. this is just a little look at one of the possible side effects.**

**your reviews make my day!**


	6. summer surprises

He knows that there's something strange going on because she's leaning against the doorframe and beaming at him with that smile. The one that makes his heart flutter like butterfly wings and his breath catch and burn in his throat.

He fights back the blush creeping into his cheeks and forces out a suspicious "what?"

She pushes her hair behind an ear (another warning sign, he notes) and pauses before glancing backward. He follows her gaze instantly and catches sight of the small boy sulking behind her.

"Sora wants to say something," she smiles, all soft eyes and soft voice, but he catches the nervousness pulling at the corners of her lips. His eyes narrow. He can see the boy mutter something, the words lost in the hum of cicadas, and shake his head. "Didn't you want to tell Papa?" she's asking gently, nudging him forward despite his hushed protests.

He watches his son shuffle forward reluctantly, stopping a few feet away from the sofa, and his shoulders are inexplicably tense as he watches Sora's mouth open.

"Me and Yuki-chan are getting married," he chokes out in a rush, his face beet-red, before turning and fleeing the room.

He is gaping after his son, utterly dumbfounded, when he hears her speak. "I-isn't that lovely?" she says brightly, pressing a hand to her cheek.

It is a few moments before he can force out the words.

"Yuki _Ishida_?"

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><p><strong>I figured something lighthearted was necessary after the last chapter... heeheehee.<strong>


	7. infinity and five

"Five…"

The weight above him is crushing— it spills over his limbs and torso like ink before seeping into his skin and muscle and bone. There, it paralyzes him. It pins him with an iron strength and steely resolve.

He wants to open his eyes, but he can't. He wants to speak (to ask), but he can't.

"Five…"

_Who are you?_

Instead he lies there, motionless, useless, and listens.

A soft voice and soft presence. They elude his groping conscious with graceful twists and turns, showering ambitions and half-confessions over his prone form.

_Who are you? _he wants to know. _Why would you tell me, want me-_

And the words tumble closer to ghost over his hand and mouth.

"…I'd fall in love with the same person."

And he always awakens to his alarm clock's expressionless face.

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><p><strong>I'm pretty darn sure Ichigo was completely konked out during Orihime's FLOL speech, but that doesn't mean his subconscious didn't pick up on anything to save for later, ohohoho~<strong>


	8. all or nothing

"Carefully," Tatsuki is cautioning her, hovering nervously by her elbow and glancing not-quite-so-subtly at the clock.

She bites her lip and mumbles an apology, trying to slow her pace. The chocolate is a bit thicker than she thinks necessary (it is also devoid of red bean paste and wasabi), but the darkness outside her window has loomed larger than she'd anticipated, and so she keeps quiet.

It's late when Tatsuki leaves, a stray smudge of dried chocolate on her cheek, and the apartment resumes its unnatural stillness. She closes the door softly, almost regretfully, and wills herself to reenter the empty kitchen.

They look fairly normal, she thinks, studying the little chocolates in their cellophane wrapping. Nothing odd, nothing inconspicuous.

Nothing special.

She stares at the chocolate lying innocently on her countertop before reaching for it with uncertain fingers. The packaging crackles in her hand.

On Valentine's Day, he finds an unopened bag of chocolates addressed to him and stuffed in a school trashcan.

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><p><strong>in two of my previous IchiHime fics, "Strawberry Wine" and "Strawberry Shortcake," I had toyed with the concept of a younger Ichigo and Orihime on Valentine's Day. this is meant to take place before the characters get to know each other well enough; I'd like to think that Orihime would want to give Ichigo something a bit more memorable and a bit more <em>her<em> for the occasion.**

**be sure to leave me a review, and even a scenario if you'd like to see one!**


	9. sunflower serenade

It seems to him that the same question lingers on everyone's lips, staining their hesitant teeth and his stubborn scowl. He's not one for etiquette and pleasantries, and so his frustration (more often than not) manages to tumble free from his clenched fists and tense shoulders.

He does his best to halt their cautious words and still his restless hands. He does his best and it isn't good enough— not for them, and not for him.

"Haven't you?" Kon had scoffed once, screeching indignantly immediately after a foot had collided with his plushy face.

"No."

"Haven't you?" Tatsuki had asked, her tone carefully neutral as her eyes flashed and his lips thinned.

"No."

"Haven't you?" the freshman boys had whispered to his unyielding back, melting into walls and shrinking from his stare.

"No, no, no."

He says it, he does his best, and yet-

"Kurosaki-kun!"

-each time-

"Inoue."

-he turns to her like a sunflower watches the horizon-

_Haven't you ever wanted…_?

-and his mouth tries in vain to hush his singing heart.

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><p><strong>just wanted to get something out for Valentine's Day, so here's this simple little thing to brighten up your day! drop me a review, I'd love to hear from you!<strong>


	10. I awaken to a new dream and a new day

****this piece is meant to take place shortly after the Fullbringer arc. I hope you all enjoy it.****

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><p>"Sorry," he mumbles sleepily, dragging his arm over and away from the papers strewn across her coffee table.<p>

She stares and the air and words in her lungs catch and burn with a slow, dancing flame. He laughs lowly, sheepishly, when his arm mistakenly sweeps their homework to the floor. The laugh is a deep rumble in his throat that melts the marrow of her bones. She suppresses a shiver.

"Sorry," he repeats, running fumbling fingers through his errant hair. The tangerine locks rumple and she can almost smell tangy citrus from across the table. He glances up at her and she sees that the skin under his eyes is dark.

"It's alright," she says quietly, trying her best to look away from his face. She fails miserably and her insides fizz and tingle.

His lips smoothen into a half-smile as he shifts. The sheet she'd draped over him dribbles away from his shoulders and onto his lap like milk. He blinks at it dazedly.

"What's the time?" he asks her.

The lamplight in the room paints him aglow in a burnished gold.

"…Almost nine thirty," she manages to say.

He nods slowly, pausing before pushing himself up. The sheet crumples soundlessly. "I have to go, I'm late for dinner…"

He sways slightly (_so much weight, so much for one boy_, she thinks) and she is catching his sleeve to steady him before she can stop herself. "Sorry," he says again, softly.

Her hands linger by his elbow. She almost swears his eyes flicker. The heavy silence lasts for barely a moment when he speaks again.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Inoue," he says.

She nods wordlessly and then he is gone, his books and warm light gone with him.

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><p><strong><strong>the beginning of this new arc already promises a stronger bond between Ichigo and Orihime. this tidbit was just a musing of their time spent together and the potential budding feelings between them.<strong>**

****also, sorry for not updating sooner, everybody! I'll be sure to have a new drabble up quickly!****


	11. make haste, give chase

She has heard it several times and in several different fashions. Girls with their glossy lips and acidic tongues have told her so. So have the boys who think that she can't hear as she passes by in the halls. It has always meant nothing.

"She could have anyone," they say, sniffing, simpering. "Anyone at all."

They say it over and over and she wonders the same thing each time: what is the point of "could" if nobody "would?" The echoing words are as far as anyone will reach—she has learned not to expect anything more. She has learned it, she knows it, and yet it is all forgotten in the span of a few moments.

She makes a noise of surprise when she collides unceremoniously into something solid that grunts upon impact.

"Oh!" she says, flinching before looking up. "I- Oh."

She is trying to figure out why it is that her mouth won't make a sound, or why her knees have suddenly weakened. She belatedly realizes that she is staring and her hands have squeezed into trembling fists.

"Sorry," the boy says gruffly, his scowl deepening when her eyes waver upward to fixate on his hair. It is a sunny color, brighter and more vibrant than hers, illuminating the dull sky. Her lips part, but she isn't entirely sure what to say anymore.

"Are you okay?" he is asking, and she blinks slowly.

He looks like a punk with that angry expression and lean frame, but she's somehow sure he isn't dangerous. Distantly, she can feel something sleepily sitting under her skin push out and away to reach for him.

"Oi!" he says. She starts. "I asked if you were okay. Are you?"

"Y-yes," she gasps, her voice inexplicably breathy.

He studies her for a beat, then sidles past, frowning and frumpy. She watches his silhouette fade into a lackluster horizon.

_You could have anyone, but who would you choose?_

She cannot shake the memory of his beautiful, burning eyes. She realizes that she doesn't want to.

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><p><strong>I wanted to write about Ichigo and Orihime's first meeting, so here is my take on it! from the canon, all we really know for sure is that Ichigo remembers first seeing Orihime when a dying Sora came to the Kurosaki clinic. he seems to have gotten to know her better only about a year or so before the canon, I think. I'd aimed this shot prior to Sora's death.<strong>

**drop me a review, I love hearing from you all!**


	12. to watch you float from afar

**my lovely sister, dandelion-heart, and I were discussing the newest chapter of Bleach when the idea for this scenario struck me. not sure when this is meant to take place... perhaps during the timeskip? at any rate, it was getting a bit lengthy and so I split it into two parts; the latter half will be uploaded soon!**

**enjoy!**

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><p>"No, it's not like that."<p>

Her fingers splay for a moment before distractedly pushing back a lock of hair. Someone giggles something and there are loud, feminine gasps. The many pleated skirts around her swish frenziedly.

He can hear the nervous laugh bubbling behind her teeth before it is quickly swallowed by their words. She shifts slightly and the faceless girls move with her; he is suddenly reminded of a buoy out at sea: bright and distant and alone.

He wills himself to study the spiraling grains of wood on his desk.

"I'm sure that's not the case," she is insisting gently.

He can imagine her clasped hands and wrinkled brow. In spite of this, he knows she is trying to smile. His eyes narrow.

One of the voices ripples through. "But what if he asked you? What would you do?"

He is acutely aware that her breathing and his heartbeat have somehow swelled in volume to pulse in his ears. Slowly, he looks back.

Her pale cheek is flushed with rosy color and the classroom is suddenly three times larger with three times less air.

He can hear them flinch when his chair scrapes harshly against the floor, but he doesn't bother glancing back. The halls and classrooms streak into a blurred mass in his peripheral vision, and he has the irrational need to get out, outside, away, away from their chatter and her blushing face and his clenching fists-

"Kurosaki." He stops abruptly, shoulders tensing. There is a pause, then Ishida continues. "You'll be late for homeroom-"

"What do you want with her?"

The question is sharper than he expected. So is the answer.

"…What has that got to do with you?"

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><p><strong>review?<strong>


	13. and tumble under shortly after

**sorry for the delay, lovelies! this is a continuation from the last piece, so feel free to go back and refresh your memories!**

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><p>The air is heavy with an unnamed tension that beats down on his brow, deepening his scowl.<p>

"…What has that got to do with you?" Ishida is asking, the words reaching out, grazing his arms, to deftly cut his tongue.

His mouth is bleeding, leaking jumbled thoughts and syllables he can't say, and Ishida's eyes narrow. "Well?" he prompts almost mockingly.

He has no answer; a gaping defense. It is at that moment that his mind wanders to the memory of her shy blush, a faint color blooming over her skin. His insides throb and he leans forward, eyes sparking.

"Answer my question," he demands, attempting to smother the inexplicable frustration fraying his resolve. "You've… been talking to her a lot more than usual."

The stillness stretches further. Something dangerously resembling understanding flits across Ishida's face. "Is that what you think?"

Inexplicably, maddeningly, he doesn't know what he thinks—he only knows that he is still unable to think of a proper response, that Ishida is still watching him with that deliberate gaze. He suddenly feels uncomfortably self-conscious.

"Are you…" he starts. "If you're thinking of… she's-"

Ishida's voice is low, cutting neatly through his fragmented sentences. "The three of us are nakama, Kurosaki." He freezes, staring. "Trust us to make our own decisions," Ishida continues before sweeping past him, blending into the walls and wind.

His scrambled thoughts drown and resurface clumsily so that he misses Ishida's last words carefully tucked into the space between them.

"She already has made hers."

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><p><strong>what with the latest little tidbit of IshiHime in the manga, I figured I ought to explore this sort of idea. to be honest, this is what I jotted down before writing, just to organize my thoughts: "ishi wasn't planning to do anything, but he'd been getting cozier with ori and girls started to gossip and ichi is conflicted like I trust you so okay but I don't want her to be with you and I don't know why and then ishi is like maybe I do want to be with her~ and ichi is like UGH WHAT and then ishi is like sigh, jk bro… except not really."<strong>

**I'm a very organized person, clearly. leave me a review? :D**


	14. in the midst of rain

**hey, everyone! I'll be updating more frequently soon- summer break is nearly here for me! in the meantime, enjoy this little shot. it's meant to take place a little bit after the Soul Society arc.**

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><p>"…Are you sure?"<p>

It's raining.

It's raining and he's fighting the urge to deepen his scowl, to curse at inclement weather and sour summer memories. He's vaguely aware of the faceless silhouettes moving around him, tossing chilly, wayward glances at his tall frame and vivid hair.

His grip on his umbrella tightens and he asks again.

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes are wide (but when are they not?) and she ducks her head, flushing. A stray lock of russet autumn tumbles over her shoulder, dark against the exposed peach of her throat. He's staring, suddenly wondering how she can hold so much color in such a dulled setting, when she nods once. He catches indistinct mumbles of space aliens and ray guns, before she meets his gaze.

"I forgot it," she murmurs, beaming nervously. She's wringing at her pale hands and, in spite of himself, his brow smoothens. "I-I'm so sorry to trouble you, Kurosaki-kun… I'll just-"

"It's alright," he says quickly. "…I'll walk you home."

She's quiet for the better part of the trip, only stammering out flustered apologies when she gently bumps into him from under their shared space. He's thinking that he's never seen her so contained when she lets out an awed gasp and leaps out and away. The umbrella tips and he blinks dazedly.

"I-Inoue?"

She's pirouetting ahead, her hair fanning out behind her like a dizzy, helium star's vapor trail of sunshine. He belatedly realizes he's squinting despite a lack of light when she eagerly splashes around him.

"Kurosaki-kun, look!" she sings, spreading her arms as she spins by. "There are puddles everywhere!"

As if to further illustrate her point, she leaps into one with both feet. The muddy surface fractures like breaking glass, splattering her socks and the hem of her school skirt. Her laugh rings out, the clear sound of a wind chime.

"Oi!" he finds himself saying, reaching for her thin wrist and dancing eyes. "You'll catch a cold that way!"

The day is still cold, still a dreary monochrome. But he swears there is a bright heat, a gentle sun, beside him.

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><p><strong>this was originally based on my previous IchiHime fics' idea of Orihime "forgetting" her umbrella on rainy days. just thought I'd spread a little cute fluff :D<strong>

**leave me a review?**


	15. out of reach

In between the heavy dregs of sleep, he is vaguely aware of lips brushing at his ear.

For some reason, he is content to let them hover there. They whisper simple poems and breathy syllables into his subconscious, pushing at him gently so that he just barely bobs on the surface of slumber.

He is content until gentle fingertips suddenly slip through his hair and down his arm, sliding over the taut skin of his stomach. Something soft presses against his back at the exact moment the lips ghost over the nape of his neck.

His eyes snap open.

"Are you awake?" a feminine voice murmurs. The warm thrum of a heart beats at his back.

_One, two, three. Don't you know me?_

He sits up abruptly, scrambling for purchase and twisting around.

Her hair is slightly mussed, dribbling over the exposed flesh of her shoulders like wine. He is struggling to get his tongue to move, to curse,_ to work_ when she shifts, his sheets threatening to fall away from the bare curve of her hip.

His throat is inexplicably dry.

"Is something wrong?" she teases, her long lashes fluttering almost sleepily.

The edges of his visions have gone hazy, blurring the contours of her figure. He doesn't have an answer. She smiles faintly, as though she had been expecting this, and the room tips dangerously so that he leans closer, closer to her lidded eyes and waiting mouth-

He curses loudly when he falls out of bed, dragging the cool bed sheets and his burning conscience with him.

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><p><strong>naughty, naughty Ichigo.<strong>

**I know this was pretty sloppy- writing stuff like this is pretty hard for me XD;; I based this shot off of another line in a previous fic, in which Ichigo has a steamy dream; just thought it'd be fun to play around with! would you all like a similar Orihime POV scenario, maybe? it does give me another excuse to write sexy Ichigo... XD**

**drop me a review, I'd love to hear what you think!**


	16. morning glory, sunset stunner

"When did this happen?" someone is whispering, her tone almost indignant.

She slows slightly, pausing some feet away from the huddled, hushed voices. The girls bump and nudge at each other, swaying closer to the sky-blue windows before drawing back into the shadowed hallway. She watches their slanting silhouettes dance against the opposite wall. They don't seem to notice her presence.

One pipes up, suddenly, "I think a change like that-"

"-so _drastic_-"

"-definitely happened at least a month ago," the girl finishes.

"At_ least_," another affirms.

"How did we not notice?" someone absently wants to know, and their collective white noise lulls to crackling static.

She turns, slowly, to look out the window.

Outside, across the field, his discarded shirt is dappled with warm sunlight. She watches him move with a fluid grace that lingers in the curve of his spine and the bend of his knees. Her mind's eye paints a petulant scowl behind his shock of tangerine hair, the glowing halo burning bright in the midst of darker-haired boys. He slips past one, sliding in front and stealing away the soccer ball.

His skin ripples over sleek sinew and her lips part soundlessly.

"He doesn't even _know_," a girl murmurs.

He draws an arm across his brow, soft shadows playing over the dips and angles of his bare chest, and glances up. She pulls away then, dizzily, and her blood sings a syrup-sweet song in time to the girls' longing sighs.

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><p><strong>I would kill for shirtless Ichigo playing soccer. who's with me? XD<strong>

**but really, until Riruka was kind enough to state the obvious, nobody had really seemed to notice that Ichigo is _hot_. this just had to be done.**


	17. guilty pleasures

**hey all! sorry it's been so long, I've been fairly occupied this summer v.v **

**to apologize, I bring you more naughtiness! I hope you all like it!**

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><p>"Does anyone know?"<p>

_His mouth is hot against her skin, trailing dancing flame and fizzing stardust below the pit of her stomach. Her back arches up from underneath him and she dazedly worries that she might burst before catching hold of the whirling cosmos in his lidded eyes. _

"Perhaps Inoue-san?"

_A breathy gasp escapes from her lips, something between a sigh and his name, and she feels his fingers thread through hers. He's murmuring something and she strains to hear, letting his lingering butterfly touches trace the words over her flesh._

"Is there something more interesting preoccupying you?"

_Her heartbeat stumbles and tumbles a staccato rhythm against his. "Say it," he whispers, tracing the line of her throat with his tongue. "Say it." _

_Her lips part and his kiss tastes of rain, sweet in the darkness of the room-_

"Orihime Inoue! Do you or do you not know the answer to the question?"

She starts, spine straightening rapidly and color flooding her face. "Y-yes!" she squeaks amidst good-natured laughter. "Um, I-I can find it…"

But the lingering heat suffusing her blurs the pages of the text, and the words are unintelligible as she desperately scans the book, the board, anything…

The teacher sighs and chooses someone else, but the answer is a dulled echo in her ears. She takes meticulous notes for the rest of class, still giddily warm, and never once lifts her gaze back to the boy watching her from beside the window.

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><p><strong>just mindless naughtiness, really XD <strong>

**review?**


	18. shadowplay

"Let me see," someone is hissing, spitting out the syllables so that they crack the motion of the corridor with spidery fissures.

"Me too-"

"-wait-"

"Look."

He can hear their drawn-out sighs from his vantage point: idly floating in the midst of swirls and eddies of students. They push gently at him, quiet and unintentional urges of _turn back_, but he presses on against the tide.

Even bobbing in and out of sight, he sees that they have dark eyes to match their dark words. They trickle thoughts and fantasies that stain their hands with invisible ink.

One frowns, staring at the cell phone in his hand. "I can never get a clear shot…"

Someone shrugs. "It's hard to do it without getting caught-"

"If only-"

"-and with less on, preferably-"

He tells himself that he is quiet, he is rational, but, drawing closer, he isn't so sure. Distantly, he thinks that maybe the marrow of his bones burns like molten lava, that maybe the line of his jaw is hardened like scorched-white metal.

"Hey," he hears himself say. His voice is alien in his own ears: it's as though he's borrowed someone else's calm and draped it over his tone. Only his tone. "What've you got there?" he asks.

Something inside him is satisfied at their petrified expressions, the belated attempt to stow away the cell phone. He grabs it deftly before they can stop him, palming the cool metal, and stares at the small screen.

Her mouth is smiling, but that's all there is of her face. The focus of the photo is distinctly elsewhere and he thinks that such a thing is utterly pointless: any picture of Orihime is a stranger without her laughing eyes.

His voice is low and sharp. "Delete this. And any others you all have." He cuts them off before they can babble an excuse. "You don't want to know what will happen to you if this happens again."

He leaves then, keeping to the shadows, keeping quiet.

* * *

><p><strong>this was inspired by one of the earlier chapters post-timeskip, when some underclassmen are talking about secretly taking pictures of Orihime. I figured that Ichigo would probably have heard about it and just quietly dealt with any creeps XD<strong>


	19. for a goodnatured thief

It isn't often that Orihime gets to see Karin, so it's as though she notices something new each time.

She's older now, all odd ends and angles, and perfectly capable of catching attention and holding it. When Orihime sees them together, Karin and Ichigo, she can't help but think about how similar they are: all sullen expressions and stalwart hearts. She finds it sweet that Ichigo worries about his sister (in the shadows of his scowl, in the corners of his eyes, in a language only she seems to speak) while his sister worries about him.

That's the way brothers and sisters ought to be, Orihime believes, a small, painful twinge biting at her heart.

She is mulling this over in the Kurosaki kitchen, humming some ditty she'd heard. She sets the used cups and plates by the sink, listening to the faint sounds of chatter drift down from Ichigo's room, and reaches for the faucet.

"How's the studying going?"

She lets out a surprised yelp, clutching at the mug in her hand and whirling around. Karin is watching her from the kitchen table with solemn eyes. Distractedly, Orihime pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and gropes for something to say.

And she can't help but be unnerved, because each time she sees her, each time she notices something new, she also notices that Karin watches her. Like she knows some sort of secret.

"K-Karin-chan!" she gasps finally. "Oh, you gave me a start!"

Karin shrugs apologetically. "I can take care of those," she says, indicating toward the dishes. "They're probably waiting for you up there."

"O-oh, alright…"

She's turning to leave, slightly relieved, when Karin calls out.

"Hey."

Orihime stops, pivoting. Karin looks unsure, as though uncertain what to do with her now that she was listening.

"Do you…" Karin starts, glancing away. "Can…" She looks up and her gaze burns. "Five lifetimes?"

Orihime swears time stops. The heat rushing to her cheeks is achingly slow, as is the motion of her spine straightening. Only Karin's stare is constant and unyielding.

"Y-yes," Orihime manages to say, her voice barely threading through her tongue and teeth. "And… beyond that, too. Six, seven, eight, or infinite. It doesn't matter."

Karin's expression is unreadable. "Why?"

She smiles in spite of herself. "Because your brother is a kind person with a good heart, and… he's long since stolen mine."

Karin's snort unexpectedly punctures the air and Orihime flushes, embarrassed that she might've said something silly.

"That sounds like you read it out of a romance novel," Karin is grinning. "Don't sweat it, I won't tell him or anything. I just… I couldn't remember if it was a dream or not. But…"

Her tone makes Orihime glance up.

"He trusts you, so I do, too. Don't change that."

Orihime's head spins dizzily, but she finds a way to speak. "I won't," she beams. "It's a promise."

* * *

><p><strong>this was something that I'd been thinking about: if either Karin or Yuzu had happened to overhear a bit of Orihime's FLOL speech. they were there too, after all...<strong>

**this was just something simple and light, but I'd love to know what you think!**


	20. how strange that we laugh in empty rooms

"It's a pretty stupid show," Tatsuki is saying, loudly draping herself over her desk.

There is a bewildered gasp in response, a few moments of sputtering, and then, "How can you say that, Tatsuki-chan? Haven't you ever seen it?"

"Yes, thanks to you," Tatsuki intones.

He doodles in the margins of his notebook while imagining her skeptically arched eyebrow.

Tatsuki continues. "Funny to think that it's called 'Laugh Hour' when I hardly laughed at all."

Someone puffs out an indignant breath. He thinks of a pouting lower lip and a wide-eyed, injured gaze. Silently, he wills Tatsuki to let it go, to let the classroom fade back to quiet.

Instead, the saccharine voice pipes up. "But it is funny… I laugh all the time!"

"I'm pretty sure that's just you."

He can hear her sag and his mind's eye paints wilting shoulders, like a drooping flower. He half wants to turn around and see this for himself—he rarely ever sees her visibly unhappy. The two are discussing variety shows when, somewhat belatedly, he realizes that she probably watches alone. Awash in blue-white light and the shadows of empty furniture.

The pencil tracing idle lines on his papers slows. Tatsuki is about to speak again, but he turns in his seat.

He turns and he almost swears that she turns with him, slipping into sight and blinding him briefly with coppery hair curling and billowing like sea wind. He wonders how it is that she seems to do that so often: divide herself into stray sunbeams to illuminate any corner, any pants' pocket, she passes by.

And then return to a darkened house where nobody waits for her.

She's smiling expectantly at him as his name falls from her lips. "What do you think, Kurosaki-kun? Isn't it nice to have something that makes you smile?"

He stares at her, taking in her wide grin and feeling his features ease. "…Yeah," he says, and her expression blooms with a slow pleasure.

At nine that evening, he turns on the TV and imagines her watching with him.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not really a fan of this piece, but I figured it would be a good idea to think about how the way Ichigo treats Orihime might be influenced by his knowledge about her personal life, namely Sora.<strong>

**I'm going to try and write more IchiHime family tidbits, so be sure to stick around!**


	21. mirror, mirrored

It is the twenty-fourth day when he wakes up and can admit that there is something missing inside him.

Days one through twenty-three were odd, like a waking dream, like sleepwalking. Like a world whose reality was slightly off-kilter.

(_No, this is normal, _he had to remind himself. _This is normal and this is what you wanted. What you want._)

On day seven, he had looked at his calendar and noted that week one of his resumed normalcy had drawn to a close. He'd cursed himself for remembering the date, for making it something significant.

(but maybe it is—he'd lost something, after all, a puzzle piece of his swept under the rug and into oblivion)

On day fifteen, he dreamt of faraway, shadowy figures and faces that melted into smoke when he touched them. It was day seventeen when he briefly wondered if maybe he'd been dreaming all along, and only just started to recognize reality.

He doesn't think about that again.

It is on day twenty-six (a bit more than three weeks, three long and muddled weeks since-) when he resolves not to think of it anymore, not to analyze it, to just swallow it down. Quietly, quietly.

_You lost it for a reason. You lost it and regaining it now would only undo the rest._

The thought is a sour pill he forces down his throat every morning in the moments between restless dreams and restless awakening. It works for a long time, long enough that he stops counting the days, letting the numbers collect like dust in the back of his mind.

And then (slowly but surely, as the erasing of memories tends to go) everything fades back, to black, to a fractured beginning. He never squints, never looks for the cracks taped sloppily together.

And so it's on some unnumbered, countless day when he catches sight of her between blinks. She is still the same, bright hair tossing and flowing like ocean waves, slender ankles turning and tilting on her own axis.

He thinks this until she breezes by him with a sunny "Good morning, Kurosaki-kun!" so that he almost misses it.

But she's turning the corner with that thin, little thing drawing the corners of her mouth up and away, with foreign eyes full of fog and mist and rainclouds. She turns away and, because she is who she is, he turns with her to catch her hand.

"K-Kurosaki-kun?"

He blinks again and it's gone just as quickly, hidden in the creases of her brow.

"Inoue, what's wrong?"

She blinks in a flushed, doe-eyed surprise. "E-eh?"

"Is… is something wrong?" He sees her about to smile, about to dust his concern away, and quickly asks, "Are you… it's been… I…"

_Do you feel this emptiness, too?_

He waits for something to say, absently letting his palm cool against her fingertips.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" she asks, softly and slowly.

(and sometimes it's the simplest of questions that are the most difficult to answer)

"You know," she continues, like it's a secret, "I've been... counting the days, too." He inhales sharply, before he can stop himself, and she looks faintly apologetic. "It isn't something very easy to forget. And it's… painful when the people you… you care about are upset. Especially when you know how important something is to them."

"…Inoue-"

She presses his hand and he forgets what it is he wants to say.

"But I'll keep smiling if you will, Kurosaki-kun! Promise?"

He knows it isn't that simple. He knows that she knows it, too. But he watches her earnest expression and knows that it's far better than the half-hearted smile he'd seen haunting her mouth.

"Okay."

* * *

><p><strong>this was meant to address how Ichigo and Orihime dealt with their period of inactivity during the timeskip. I know Orihime decided to dedicate herself to training, but I wanted to write about the very early days. I chose this particular chapter title because of the similar feelings both characters were experiencing, also the sort of chain reaction that Ichigo's feelings have on Orihime.<strong>

**let me know what you think!**


	22. similes and metaphors

Nobody knew he wrote poetry.

Sweet sonnets, haunting haikus, and the occasional string of stanzas with lyrical words and no music.

Nobody knew and neither did she.

She was organizing the dusty attic, idly brushing away cobwebs, when she'd suddenly spied a small, shadowed shoebox in a corner. There were no distinguishing labels, and so it seemed obvious that she'd have to open it.

He found her curled on their bed, papers upon papers strewn over the rounded swell of her belly and coverlet. She hiccupped, catching sight of him, and he'd stared at her red-rimmed eyes.

"Orihime! What-"

"You…" she sniffed, gesturing at him with a sheet. He'd frozen. "You wrote…?"

It took a moment, and then his expression rapidly shifted to one of embarrassment. The mattress dipped with his weight.

"Please don't cry," he mumbled, wiping at her tears. "You're already so emotional-" He winced. "I mean, what with the baby coming-"

"Ichigo, these are beautiful," she breathed, leaning into his touch. "Would you read one to me?"

His hand twitched uncertainly, and he grudgingly chose the nearest paper with a scowl. He cleared his throat at her expectant look, lowering his voice to a throaty hum.

_"I never knew _

_if the world would simply let us be._

_It seemed impossible,_

_too much, too far—_

_too far out of reach._

_We made hopeful promises,_

_with helium hearts_

_stitched with a spool of red string,_

_and I said that we would be alright_

_if I had you by me. _

_So I ask,_

_no matter what, no matter why,_

_that you simply be—_

_with your laughing mouth,_

_with my helium heart,_

_with eyes deeper than any sea."_

He cleared his throat again, ducking his head. "I know it's-" he started to grumble, but she cut him off with an eager kiss, one that pushed him backwards onto the bed.

And that was really all the reassurance he needed.

* * *

><p><strong>I write silly things. this is one of them.<strong>


	23. our bottles of spilled sand

Ichigo doesn't like trusting people, she knows. And it is no easy thing to gain his trust—he's seen too much and lost too much to simply forgo logic and hand over bits and pieces of his heart.

("I lost you once," he's told her, eyes burning, "and I will not lose a part of me again")

Sometimes she wonders how he bestowed that title on her, the one that brought them together in the first place (_we're nakama, right?_), when she knew him so well and yet knew nothing about him at all.

He tells her that she's silly for thinking of such things, and then she thinks that she hasn't changed at all: she's still got clouds in her head and stars for eyes, she's still a silly girl, she's still silly in love.

And she still pours out her heart (in rivers and oceans of softly spoken words, of surreptitiously slipped confessions) and makes him flush. They trade shy promises like notes, always tucking them between their ribs for safekeeping.

"I'm selfish," she tells him one day, murmuring it into his shirt as he fiddles with a strand of her hair. She sits back, running a hand over his chest to linger over his heart. "I want to know all of you," she continues slowly, "more than anyone else, better than anyone else, every day, every hour."

His eyes soften to burnt umber and she wants to know if they will always be like this; if he will always smile back, if her swelling heart will ever stop doubting-

"You already…" he murmurs, pausing before drawing her close. "You've broken me."

He kisses her forehead and she floats with the weightlessness of understanding.

_You've broken me so that there's nothing left from you._

* * *

><p><strong>sorry for the delay, everybody! I've been swamped with schoolwork as of late and am also trying to recover from a cold. I still made time to add to this little collection, so please let me know if you like reading my silly, sappy little stories XD<strong>


	24. from the sidelines

**this piece in particular deviates from the fairly set structure I have in this collection. it's an odd piece, to be sure, one I assumed took place before the Hueco Mundo arc. I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

><p>"There was a time, once," Tatsuki says softly. Her hair drapes shadows over her brow, trailing faint ink over her face. She wets her lips and glances up briefly. "A long time ago…"<p>

Outside, a cricket chirps. It's past midnight.

"I didn't know," Orihime says, trying to smile and instead feeling her stomach sink. She wills herself not to squeeze at her pillow.

Tatsuki gives her a lingering look. Her gaze slips down, like rain on a window. "It was far in the past," she murmurs. "His mother even asked me once. She knew."

Orihime's breath hitches and Tatsuki's eyes are on hers again. She imagines herself behind a solid stone wall, touching at rock and listening to voices sharing secrets she could never understand.

"I'd beaten him again, at practice. She'd come to pick him up and he was getting his things. He… you know he doesn't notice this stuff."

She knows. She nods, feeling her head tip back and forth and thinking of the tick tock of clocks.

Tatsuki sighs, something sad and thoughtful. She draws her knees under her chin. "She was so pretty, his mom. She'd leaned down and said, 'He won't know how you feel if you keep beating him so badly.'" Tatsuki's eyes are dark and distant, like night clouds. "I was so surprised that I couldn't even pretend. It made her laugh, and she said she'd keep it a secret. That she'd cheer me on."

Something dark and dangerous is biting at her, deep inside. She thinks of all the confessions she's told, all the things she's never asked. All the times Tatsuki listened.

"We were together so much. I mean, everyone just assumed…" Tatsuki says, the ends of her voice fraying into splinters and split ends.

The churning feeling stills as she takes in the creases by Tatsuki's eyes. She remembers bandaging her knuckles, linking their arms together, towers and princesses and dragons. Knowing looks and pure promises.

She takes Tatsuki's hands gently. Her heartbeat is slow and calm. "Did you?"

Tatsuki smiles ruefully. "No. Neither did he." She turns their hands to better clasp at Orihime's. "But you're different. Remember that."

* * *

><p><strong>this was a look at Orihime and Tatsuki discussing an old crush Tatsuki had on Ichigo. it was meant to be a bonding and understanding moment between the two girls, but also a reminder of how both have different relationships with Ichigo- one better suited for romance than the other. I also hope the fact that Orihime and Tatsuki's friendship will surpass all roadblocks, big or small, managed to carry across.<strong>

**let me know what you think!**


	25. together, we make perfect

Each time he kisses her, it's as though he leaves a piece of song against her skin.

Sometimes, he sweeps butterfly brushes at the corner of her mouth. Sometimes, his lips linger, soft and warm, by her ear. And sometimes, his arm easily circling her waist, he presses shy words to her temple.

He kisses her until her heart is warm and aglow from behind her ribs, lovely light flooding her face and eyes. He kisses her so that she berates herself for wanting more—more of his touch, his taste.

"M-maybe we should practice," she murmurs one day, doodling in the margins of her homework.

His shoulder bumps against hers as he turns. "…Practice?" he echoes, his voice low and tantalizingly close.

"Y-yes," she stutters, glancing up to gauge his reaction.

Soft evening light dims his hard lines and angles, but he's near enough that she can clearly see his features. She's distractedly counting his eyelashes when he frowns.

"I'm not… I'm not good at it?" He sounds slightly strained.

She flushes, suddenly all too aware of how close he is to her heated skin. "Ah, n-no!" she stammers, gesturing wildly. Her fingertips graze his shirt and she swears his breath catches. She stills, glancing up. Gently, her hands rest against his chest. "I just…"

His eyes are lidded and dark. She lets her gaze flicker lower to watch him wet his lips in an attempt to say something. The air between them feels charged.

"Orihime-"

She tips forward before she can think twice, stealing away his words. Time snakes around them, crushing them closer and burning his flesh against hers. She somehow manages to pull away, lightheaded and dizzy, because she vaguely remembers that there was something that she had been saying, something possibly important-

"Um," she gasps, drawing breath back into her deflated lungs. He pulls her back again, brushing his mouth lightly over her throat. "We-"

"Practice," he pants, pressing his forehead to hers so that warm breath clouds over her cheek. His eyes open and she shivers under his smoldering gaze. "We'll practice."

* * *

><p><strong>I just wrote a full-fledged IshiHime fic (which I'm actually rather proud of and enjoyed writing!), so I figured that I ought to go back and add to my OTP's collection. hope you enjoyed this mindless sexiness XD<strong>


	26. eternal addendums

She is soft and cool under his hands. He knows this from the many trails his wayward fingers have traced over the dips and slopes of her skin. Sometimes, her eyes and tongue dulled with sleep, she asks him if there's something he's looking for.

(_yes, always—and maybe he can find it, hidden in an invisible Braille-_)

But he never answers, instead pressing his mouth over hers to steal away her sleepy sighs.

There are times in the day when the clock freezes and she sharpens before his eyes: a beautiful, bright sliver of sunlight flitting between furniture. It's during these moments that he catches her wrist before he can think, dropping papers and drawing her close. Sometimes, her gaze expectant and cheeks flushed, she asks him if there's something wrong.

(_would you disappear behind a jealous cloud, or fade away if it rained-_)

He always says no, twining their fingers together and breathing in her sweet scent.

He makes excuses and swallows his thoughts back, but she knows. Sometimes she knows him better than he knows himself; sometimes she knows his words before he can hide them.

"I don't deserve you," he tries to tell her, and her face twists, her hands twist, her chest and mouth press against his.

"Shh," she murmurs. As though drawing poison from his lips with hers.

His hands are rough, his heart is rough. He touches her and imagines streaking ink over her flesh. "You're too good for me-" he begins again, in a voice like harsh ocean tide breaking against smooth sand.

But she tells him the same thing every day, in whispered words and silent smiles, and each time is like the first: his pulse throbs and he falls a bit more deeply, wholly, dangerously.

_You were all I ever wanted._


	27. your hands are for holding

His hands are not things of beauty. The lines of his palms hide scars in their creases and his veins carry heated blood and battle cries. They are hands for breaking and fighting and destruction.

He cannot create—he cannot make something beautiful.

That thought is there, ever present, whenever she is with him. When he wakes up to her warm kiss, when she holds his hand while crossing the street, when she tells him "I love you, I love you, I love you-"

(_how can I know beauty when you are everything I am not?_)

He believes this until she proves him wrong, again, in that effortless way only she seems to know.

"We're going to have a baby," she breathes, her eyes glimmering like the first rays of sunrise. He is properly stunned. But her giddiness is infectious, and he dazedly wonders if they're floating when he twirls her around the room.

Their child has her russet hair and his brown eyes. He is tiny in his father's hands. Tiny and impossibly perfect. "Your son is beautiful," he tells her, brushing his knuckles against the baby's silky cheek. "Just like you."

She beams tiredly at him, her hair an autumn halo against the hospital sheets. "He's yours, too," she reminds him, and his heart ignites as though it is suddenly made of flickering fireflies. "But I was thinking…" she murmurs, "do you think Sora would like a sister?"

She is badly feigning a look of innocence when his head jerks up. Sora shifts slightly in his arms, but stays asleep.

"…What if he gets a brother?"

She grins mischievously and his heart trip-stops. "Then I suppose we can always try again."

And he will never again doubt what he can do.

* * *

><p><strong>yes, this was just an excuse to write babies into the story. because who doesn't love IchiHime babies?<strong>

**sorry for the delay, by the way! I'll try update sooner next time. leave me a review? :D**


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